The torpid ages travailed long while systems died and grew,
Until the final hour struck that sounded DOOM for you;
You are the Past, the Dead, the Dust; we Heralds of the New.
We are the Herators of Time, not outcasts of despair—
The Builders of a gleaming world, the Future, calm and fair;
And we've starved through your dismal night to feast in plenty there.
We want this world for all who work—a heritage by birth;
We want as "pay" the fullest joy that Human Life is worth:
We therefore start the New Crusade the Conquest of the Earth.
From out the reeking hells of greed where we have delved and spun
We'll stream forth with a ringing song, the Final Battle won,
To find upon the fair green earth our place within the sun!
The War is on—a howling storm—against your fastness hurled.
Our battle-line now girts the globe, the death-flag is unfurled.
We, who have slaved and slept and bled, shall soon possess the world!
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